At one point, while teaching a lesson today, I uttered (okay, I shouted) the following brilliant gem of wisdom:
"Put your legs on and ride!"
Out of context the sentence is baffling. At the moment, it was profound. The situation was such that during the lesson my student was having trouble turning her horse left on a circle. Oh sure, it sounds like it should be easy, but when 1,500 pounds of horse says he'd rather go right than go left, there's not a whole lot a rider can do about it. The horse was doing an excellent job of teaching his rider that should she want to go left, she ought to SEND him there rather than PULL him there. The horse (and who can blame him) did not want to be dragged around by his face. His method of pointing this out was to go around his circle as if there were strong magnets in the fence at the other end, and he was made of steel.
Given the instructions that she could not let go of her saddle pad strap while using her inside rein (to limit pulling), this rider was faced with how she was going to get the left turn. What she had forgotten in the heat of the moment, is that she had many other more influential aids that were at her disposal. What she was trying to do was like trying to win the NBA playoffs with all the best players benched. If I were a person that paid attention to such things I could have provided actual names of some "best players". My familiarity with basketball ended when Michael Jordan retired. The first time.
It is easy to get distracted by what the horse's head is doing. It is right there in front of you. Or at least it ought to be. If it's not, you need more help than I can provide here. Being motivated by our tactile sense, it is easy to use our hands to manipulate that which is right in front of us, but there is a better way. Let's say that someone wants you to move somewhere. The person in charge of moving you can either stand on the opposite side from where you need to go, and then push you there. Or, person in charge of moving you could grab hold of your lower jaw and haul you there. Given the two choices, I bet you'd take the gentle shove.
It does take time to teach a horse to move away from leg pressure and we use the inside rein pull to help the horse understand where to go. Eventually, the aids should be refined such that the horse is able to follow the rider's weight and leg aids and the reins used just to point the horse in the right direction. The horse in this lesson was entirely capable of following leg aids, should they be given. What was happening was that the rider was doing damage control rather than preventative riding. Instead of telling the horse where he should be going she stalled out in the middle of the road and the horse carried on without her. By the time she got back in the driver's seat, she was now stuck trying to change the horse's mind after he'd already made the decision to go the other way.
In telling her to "Put her legs on and ride!" I was reminding her that she needed to push that horse through the reins from her legs, not pull him or get caught up in his efforts to bulge out of the circle. Riding positively and riding forward will help you get to your goal much quicker and easier than flailing around after things have gone haywire. Keep the horse's energy moving forward rather than letting it go bursting out the side and trying to reclaim it. That is what is meant by "Put your legs on and ride!".
After struggling against the temptation to pull that left rein, my student got the horse around the circle to the left and then did some to the right and then came back to the left again. When she was riding, the horse went beautifully around his circles. He was perfectly happy going around those circles once he was asked to do them in a way that made sense to him. She looked like she was in charge of the situation ('cause she was) and like she and the horse were one unit instead of looking like a tin soldier Scotch-taped to a Slinky.
Shortly after that lesson, I saddled up my own horse. We circled around a bit but soon I started having trouble because Dundee was losing focus and balance every time we had to go past the White Barrel With Really Big Teeth And Claws. I struggled a bit and grumbled a bit and finally said, not even to myself but right out loud, "Put your legs on and ride!". Once I did - BANG! - went Dundee, jumping forward like the White Barrel With Really Big Teeth And Claws had just pinched his butt. The next time past the WBWRBTAC, Dundee tensed up but moved straighter. The third time, he powered through with confidence. Sometimes we need to take our own advice.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Dusting Off my Dorkiness
Recently, in an attempt to watch the Super Bowl, I started playing with my Breyer Horses again. The football game was on, but it just couldn't hold my attention and I started re-organizing and cleaning up my model horse collection. They have been on my shelves but have gathered dust, and more than one of them had a body in one place and a leg in another.
As a youngster, I played more vigorously with the horses. They fought battles, raced, jumped, broke down the barn door, and in a few dramatic scenarios, were airlifted by my brother's r/c helicopter. Model horse legs were not meant for such abuse and they snapped with maddening regularity. My Dad tirelessly repaired them, first with glue, then with epoxies, then with drilling and pegs but each repaired model ended up back into the fray so repairs never lasted long. One poor horse even had a prosthetic leg after his original one was lost. His initial prosthetic was a marker cap stuck onto the stump of his leg. It worked perfectly, but looked ridiculous. An artistically inclined neighbor whittled a more realistic leg from a bit of wood which was then stained chestnut-ish color and taped onto the horse. The wooden leg was slightly more realistic looking than the marker cap, but the masking tape spoiled the effect.
Re-visiting that world, with the Superbowl blaring away in the background, I immersed myself into my list of model horses and their names, dusted the most filthy, did surgery (using a hot glue gun) on some and then nicely rearranged them all on their shelves. There were no races, battles or helicopters involved.
Playing with my Breyer horses was the reason I collected them, but naming my Breyer Horses was the real thrill. My first three had the unimaginative names of Prince, Lightning and Sugar. As my collection grew, I came to love the process of finding just the right name for each horse. Each horse's breed, color, age, sex and pose were considered. I tried out names until I came to the one that fit just right. Some Breyer horses are models of real live, storybook, or movie horses, which meant that they already had names. For some of those, I changed the names, but most "real" horses stayed real. Amongst them are; Sham, Abdullah, Touch of Class, Roemer, Shetan, Misty, John Henry and several Black Beauties. A lot of my horses have names that I got from non-equine tv shows, movies, songs or celebrities. Some have names inspired by the place or time (holidays or season) from which each horse was obtained. Others have names derived from people or horses in my life.
Willie is a blue roan Percheron model that I got at the Kentucky Horse Park. He is named after a horse that was at the barn where I first boarded Ivy. A light gray model Arab mare is named after a light gray real Arab mare that I trained, named Kann Gdanse (Can Dance). The model is Kann Gdanse Too. I have a little bay Quarter Horse mare that looks a lot like another horse, See Stormy, I worked with, so I named that model See Stormy Go. Autumn Fawn is a bright Palomino mare named after the real Fawny, a more subtle palomino. Fawny was a neighbor's horse that I could ride whenever I wanted. She was a darling mare and I had many adventures with her. Alabama Drifter (an Appaloosa) is named for a Standardbred that we had in our barn. He was called Bama, and while not exactly "darling" we also had many adventures with him. Impressive Chief is a name I blatantly plagiarized from a horse that a classmate had. I named my model Appaloosa horse after her real Appaloosa horse. Druska is another name I stole outright. A horse at my instructor's barn was named Druska Muska and I loved that horse. When I got a model that sort of looked like the real Druska, I named mine the same. Without the Muska, though. I thought the Muska part sounded funny so I left it off. My roommate in college had a National Show Horse mare named Driftwood Tishra. The mare was called Tish most of the time, but her pet name was Driftwooooooooood. I named a pair of model Arabs after her, only with less o's. They were Driftwood Seraphina and Driftwood Gabriella. There are two foxes in my collection. One is a bay Saddlebred mare called Springfield Fox (Foxy) named after a little bay mare that was a school horse at my college. The other is an Apppaloosa called X-Tra Super Fox who was named after a college friend's little Appaloosa, Sleepy Fox (who should have been called Super Fox). Last, but not least, although certainly littlest, is a model of a Hackney Pony that I named Whispering Pines' Tipperary, or Tippy. Tippy was one of the ponies that I worked with at my first Summer job. Tippy was sweet and adorable and had a great pony name. I had to re-use it.
People I know, and have known, may be honored to find out that I have a model horse in my collection named after them. Or maybe they will not be honored but instead will be embarrassed that they are friends with such a dork. In an effort to protect the identities of those involved, I will not name them personally, but will print the horses' names. If the people involved are flattered, they may feel free to stand up and wave, saying "Hey, that's me!" More likely, they will slink away quietly hoping that I know some other person by that name.
Me: Hey guess what, good friend! I named this pretty plastic horse after YOU!
GF: You did what?
Me: Yeah, cause I think you're so great and really special and everything so I did this cool thing.
GF: Cool?
Me: Isn't that great?!
GF: (crickets chirping)
Here is the list. Be flattered, or not.
Zaccariha
Jazzman Jackson
Justa Summer Squash
Oh Mandy
Roamer
Briggita
Wesley
Bonnie
Belinda
Andy's Birthday Girl
JJ Singasong
Kim's Poco Rey
Some of those names aren't much of a stretch. It's fairly obvious that I know people named Wesley, Bonnie and Belinda. The rest are like code names. Some of you reading this may recognize your name. Others, like the 9 year old son of a friend's brother-in-law, will not be reading this and thus will not know of their fame. Incidentally, I have never met said 9 year old. He was just born around the same time as my son and I thought his name was cool. A medium size boy that I have never actually met, is cooler than me. Just because of his name.
I could write more pages about the names I've chosen for my Breyer Horses but I will spare you. Next post, I swear, will be about training horses.
As a youngster, I played more vigorously with the horses. They fought battles, raced, jumped, broke down the barn door, and in a few dramatic scenarios, were airlifted by my brother's r/c helicopter. Model horse legs were not meant for such abuse and they snapped with maddening regularity. My Dad tirelessly repaired them, first with glue, then with epoxies, then with drilling and pegs but each repaired model ended up back into the fray so repairs never lasted long. One poor horse even had a prosthetic leg after his original one was lost. His initial prosthetic was a marker cap stuck onto the stump of his leg. It worked perfectly, but looked ridiculous. An artistically inclined neighbor whittled a more realistic leg from a bit of wood which was then stained chestnut-ish color and taped onto the horse. The wooden leg was slightly more realistic looking than the marker cap, but the masking tape spoiled the effect.
Re-visiting that world, with the Superbowl blaring away in the background, I immersed myself into my list of model horses and their names, dusted the most filthy, did surgery (using a hot glue gun) on some and then nicely rearranged them all on their shelves. There were no races, battles or helicopters involved.
Playing with my Breyer horses was the reason I collected them, but naming my Breyer Horses was the real thrill. My first three had the unimaginative names of Prince, Lightning and Sugar. As my collection grew, I came to love the process of finding just the right name for each horse. Each horse's breed, color, age, sex and pose were considered. I tried out names until I came to the one that fit just right. Some Breyer horses are models of real live, storybook, or movie horses, which meant that they already had names. For some of those, I changed the names, but most "real" horses stayed real. Amongst them are; Sham, Abdullah, Touch of Class, Roemer, Shetan, Misty, John Henry and several Black Beauties. A lot of my horses have names that I got from non-equine tv shows, movies, songs or celebrities. Some have names inspired by the place or time (holidays or season) from which each horse was obtained. Others have names derived from people or horses in my life.
Willie is a blue roan Percheron model that I got at the Kentucky Horse Park. He is named after a horse that was at the barn where I first boarded Ivy. A light gray model Arab mare is named after a light gray real Arab mare that I trained, named Kann Gdanse (Can Dance). The model is Kann Gdanse Too. I have a little bay Quarter Horse mare that looks a lot like another horse, See Stormy, I worked with, so I named that model See Stormy Go. Autumn Fawn is a bright Palomino mare named after the real Fawny, a more subtle palomino. Fawny was a neighbor's horse that I could ride whenever I wanted. She was a darling mare and I had many adventures with her. Alabama Drifter (an Appaloosa) is named for a Standardbred that we had in our barn. He was called Bama, and while not exactly "darling" we also had many adventures with him. Impressive Chief is a name I blatantly plagiarized from a horse that a classmate had. I named my model Appaloosa horse after her real Appaloosa horse. Druska is another name I stole outright. A horse at my instructor's barn was named Druska Muska and I loved that horse. When I got a model that sort of looked like the real Druska, I named mine the same. Without the Muska, though. I thought the Muska part sounded funny so I left it off. My roommate in college had a National Show Horse mare named Driftwood Tishra. The mare was called Tish most of the time, but her pet name was Driftwooooooooood. I named a pair of model Arabs after her, only with less o's. They were Driftwood Seraphina and Driftwood Gabriella. There are two foxes in my collection. One is a bay Saddlebred mare called Springfield Fox (Foxy) named after a little bay mare that was a school horse at my college. The other is an Apppaloosa called X-Tra Super Fox who was named after a college friend's little Appaloosa, Sleepy Fox (who should have been called Super Fox). Last, but not least, although certainly littlest, is a model of a Hackney Pony that I named Whispering Pines' Tipperary, or Tippy. Tippy was one of the ponies that I worked with at my first Summer job. Tippy was sweet and adorable and had a great pony name. I had to re-use it.
People I know, and have known, may be honored to find out that I have a model horse in my collection named after them. Or maybe they will not be honored but instead will be embarrassed that they are friends with such a dork. In an effort to protect the identities of those involved, I will not name them personally, but will print the horses' names. If the people involved are flattered, they may feel free to stand up and wave, saying "Hey, that's me!" More likely, they will slink away quietly hoping that I know some other person by that name.
Me: Hey guess what, good friend! I named this pretty plastic horse after YOU!
GF: You did what?
Me: Yeah, cause I think you're so great and really special and everything so I did this cool thing.
GF: Cool?
Me: Isn't that great?!
GF: (crickets chirping)
Here is the list. Be flattered, or not.
Zaccariha
Jazzman Jackson
Justa Summer Squash
Oh Mandy
Roamer
Briggita
Wesley
Bonnie
Belinda
Andy's Birthday Girl
JJ Singasong
Kim's Poco Rey
Some of those names aren't much of a stretch. It's fairly obvious that I know people named Wesley, Bonnie and Belinda. The rest are like code names. Some of you reading this may recognize your name. Others, like the 9 year old son of a friend's brother-in-law, will not be reading this and thus will not know of their fame. Incidentally, I have never met said 9 year old. He was just born around the same time as my son and I thought his name was cool. A medium size boy that I have never actually met, is cooler than me. Just because of his name.
I could write more pages about the names I've chosen for my Breyer Horses but I will spare you. Next post, I swear, will be about training horses.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
My Little Lamzydivy
My Dad's plan completely backfired. At the time, Mom had gotten a horse after more than a dozen years of non-horseownership. This one was a big Appaloosa gelding she named Chief. She tried to share him, but he was really her horse. Not too much later after getting Chief, she and Dad agreed that I could get a horse on trial. The local horse dealer, which provided most of the area Summer camps with their horses, needed places to house those camp horses over the Winter. The deal was, people could take a camp horse on lease from September to June. In June, the horse would return to the dealer and go back to camp. This was an ingenuous plan on the part of the horse dealer. Not only were they off the hook for caring for hundreds of horses over the Winter, but a lot of the time, the leasing family ended up buying the horse before the Spring after becoming attached to it. Suckers.
My Dad agreed to let me get a camp horse for the Winter, being very sure that having to take care of a horse when the weather was cold and snowy and windy and not very good for riding, as well as pay for all of its expenses, would be a quick cure to my Cerebral Equuscantagium. Hahaha! Dads can be so funny!
Off we went, my Mom and I, to look at horses (they were all still at the camps at this point) and I found just the horse I wanted. She was almost an exact replica of a neighbor's horse that I had been riding except that instead of palomino, this one was a liver chestnut. The camp horse was named Bailey and I already loved her. One other horse caught my eye, probably because she was bright white in a ring full of brownish horses.
This white horse was being ridden by a teeny-tiny girl wearing a not teeny-tiny enough helmet. As the horse cantered around the ring, TTG would, every few strides, drop her reins, readjust her helmet, pick up the reins and carry on. The white horse never broke stride or left the rail. Now, I can appreciate just how special it was that the white horse didn't take advantage of TTG's distraction. I just thought the TTG was funny. I did not want the white horse because Mom had told me about how hard it is to keep them clean. The nice, dark brown horse suited me fine.
On the day of retrieval of Bailey, we went to the camp to meet the horse trailer that was transporting her to the barn where we were boarding Chief. When we entered the barn, there on the cross ties, stood Bailey. But there was a bucket under her neck (gross part coming up - I will warn you when it gets here). Before we could get closer, the camp staff advanced on us and hastily explained that Bailey couldn't go with us because she had Strangles. The bucket under her neck (Here it comes!) was to collect the pus that was draining out of her abscessed lymph nodes.
"Take Ivy!", the teenaged camp staff chorused. "She's great, you'll love her!" Ivy was, as you probably have guessed, the white horse. I did not want her. But I did not want to complain in front of these older, horsier girls and so, grudgingly agreed to take Ivy.
Any one of the experienced horsepersons reading this will be horrified by the thought that I took any horse from a barn where there was a horse acutely afflicted with Strangles. It should never be done. Strangles is highly contagious. The fact that Ivy never came down with it and didn't pass it on to any of the other horses at our barn is just another eery indication that our pairing was meant to happen. Also, one should never take on a horse without trying it out first. Also, never dismiss a horse based solely on color. Also, even though TTG survived, always wear a helmet that fits when you go riding. That is all.
So Ivy came home with me. The first time I rode her was down the side of the road behind my Mom on Chief. Okay, one more... Also, I do not recommend that someone try a horse out by riding it down the side of the road. Now I'm done. Within the first few steps that little white horse took, I was smitten. I knew she was the one. I felt like I had been riding her my whole life.
Not only did Dad's plan of making me sick of taking care of a horse by letting me have one for the Winter fail, as the kids say, epically, it made my obsession worse. MY plan was, although I couldn't buy her before the Spring, to work all Summer and save every penny I could earn and buy Ivy at the end of the season when she was done with camp. At 14 years old, my job opportunities did not abound, but I babysat quite a lot and had no other temptations. Other than Breyer horses, but I could resist buying them knowing that Ivy was the alternative.
My determined little 14 year old self was pleasantly surprised however, when one afternoon, my parents called me downstairs and told me that I did not have to send Ivy back. As an early birthday gift, they were going to buy Ivy for me. BUT, they admonished as good parents, I would still have to work for all of her expenses and take care of her myself. If they had told me that in order to keep Ivy, I had to shave my head and stand on a streetcorner in a chicken suit playing "How Much Is That Doggy In The Window" on the kazoo, I would have been at the junction of Cottage and Main Streets, bald and feathered, faster than you can say Cerebral Equuscantagium.
Ivy was my horse until the end of her life. I had her for 15 years. To tell the story of all of those 15 years would fill dozens and dozens of pages, even if I used a really small font. Even though people told me I needed a taller horse (Ivy was 14.2, with her shoes on), I never once considered trading her in. She was perfect. The world never looked sweeter than when it was viewed through her little white ears. I've looked through hundreds of other sets of ears now, but I can still remember the sound of her hooves on a dirt road, the feel of her neck under her mane, the swing of her back when she trotted and the way that everything seemed right when I was riding her.
I will never say that I'm glad Bailey contracted Strangles, but I will say that I am forever grateful to those teenage girls that said, "Take Ivy! She's great, you'll love her!"
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Weather Or Not
Today was cold; bitter, windy cold, the kind of cold that freezes your eyelashes together. I did not go riding. I barely left the house. Even if I had wanted to go riding, the footing is terrible and my horse would have been quite unhappy. We've gone from mud to frozen, rutted mud to a shallow layer of frozen snow and ice on top of frozen, rutted mud.
My new horse and previous horse are vastly different yet have both been cursed with tender feet. I don't remember my first horse ever having any hoof issues. Ivy had hooves of titanium, I guess. Her feet did chip and crack a little but she never minced around the way that my current horse does. I rode Ivy on all kinds of footing, being completely oblivious to whether it would have any effect on her hooves. The exception was pavement. As much as possible, I kept her off pavement and if I had to ride on it, then only at a walk. Most of my riding was alongside the road with some trails and fields. We rode on the gravel, over the rocks, through water and galloped on dirt roads and through belly high grass. Very little of our riding was in a sand arena. My new horse and previous horse, need shoes to go riding IN the sand arena. Without them, they tiptoe around like they are trying to sneak up on someone.
Not only are my horses sissies, but I feel myself morphing into one as well. As a teenager, I went riding in all weather. For Winter rides, I often rode bareback to take advantage of my horse's body heat. Then it was layer upon layer of clothing until I resembled poor Randy from A Christmas Story ("I can't put my arms down!"). The assemblage went something like this: tights, jeans, sweatpants, socks, leg-warmers and Winter boots for the lower half and up above, t-shirt, turtleneck, sweater, vest, Winter jacket, scarf, gloves, mittens, hat and helmet. There were no fancy thermo-synthetic-polar-fleece anythings. There were no made-for Winter-riding boots, breeches or gloves like these kids have nowadays. The capper was when I went off to college and had regular riding lessons for which a uniform was required. That meant tall boots, breeches, a school sweater or jacket, helmet and gloves. In a feeble attempt to stave off the New England cold, we would buy the biggest wool socks would could find, put them on over our leather boots and then put rubber overshoes on over them. It didn't work.
I still ride in the Winter, often bareback, and with new-fangled weather appropriate riding gear, but it has to be at least 20 for me to get on a horse. Even then, I'll whine about it. It's funny though, how relative temperature can be. No matter what, 3 degrees Fahrenheit is dang cold. But when it's been 3 for a few days and then goes all the way up to 20, it can feel like Spring time. If it's been 75 degrees and dips to 4o our teeth start chattering and we fuss and carry on like the Ice Age just returned. But let the thermometer soar to 40, after temps in the teens, and we will dance around in our short sleeves like loons.
There are times when I have gone riding, under no duress or obligation, in the pouring rain, blistering heat, driving snow, pitch dark, wind, fog, and all manner of Mother Nature's manifestations. I'm glad I did. That doesn't mean I'm going to necessarily do it again, but I am glad for the experiences. Now I'm more cautious and considerate of my horse's comfort and well-being to not going riding in certain types of weather, or at least that makes a good excuse for being sissy.
If you are the type of rider that competes, there are going to be competitions held in less than ideal weather, so training in less than ideal weather only makes sense. The show must go on, and all that. If there is a danger to me or my horse, then I certainly will not risk my horse's or my own well-being to go riding, competition or not. Lightning is one of those circumstances. Dangerous footing would be another. Being older and wiser, I do feel as though extreme heat and cold classify. Some times, weather may not be conducive to a full out training session, but a modified one would be suitable. A walking ride in high temperatures or a short one in frigid temps. is certainly sensible.
No matter how much whining I may do about weather and often having to ride in disagreeable conditions, I am always glad, at the end of a ride, that I did it. The reward outweighs any discomfort, and the discomfort is usually forgotten as my horse and I start working together. However, I'm still going to be on the couch watching a movie when the temperature dips into the single digits, despite thermo-synthetic-polar-fleece anythings.
My new horse and previous horse are vastly different yet have both been cursed with tender feet. I don't remember my first horse ever having any hoof issues. Ivy had hooves of titanium, I guess. Her feet did chip and crack a little but she never minced around the way that my current horse does. I rode Ivy on all kinds of footing, being completely oblivious to whether it would have any effect on her hooves. The exception was pavement. As much as possible, I kept her off pavement and if I had to ride on it, then only at a walk. Most of my riding was alongside the road with some trails and fields. We rode on the gravel, over the rocks, through water and galloped on dirt roads and through belly high grass. Very little of our riding was in a sand arena. My new horse and previous horse, need shoes to go riding IN the sand arena. Without them, they tiptoe around like they are trying to sneak up on someone.
Not only are my horses sissies, but I feel myself morphing into one as well. As a teenager, I went riding in all weather. For Winter rides, I often rode bareback to take advantage of my horse's body heat. Then it was layer upon layer of clothing until I resembled poor Randy from A Christmas Story ("I can't put my arms down!"). The assemblage went something like this: tights, jeans, sweatpants, socks, leg-warmers and Winter boots for the lower half and up above, t-shirt, turtleneck, sweater, vest, Winter jacket, scarf, gloves, mittens, hat and helmet. There were no fancy thermo-synthetic-polar-fleece anythings. There were no made-for Winter-riding boots, breeches or gloves like these kids have nowadays. The capper was when I went off to college and had regular riding lessons for which a uniform was required. That meant tall boots, breeches, a school sweater or jacket, helmet and gloves. In a feeble attempt to stave off the New England cold, we would buy the biggest wool socks would could find, put them on over our leather boots and then put rubber overshoes on over them. It didn't work.
I still ride in the Winter, often bareback, and with new-fangled weather appropriate riding gear, but it has to be at least 20 for me to get on a horse. Even then, I'll whine about it. It's funny though, how relative temperature can be. No matter what, 3 degrees Fahrenheit is dang cold. But when it's been 3 for a few days and then goes all the way up to 20, it can feel like Spring time. If it's been 75 degrees and dips to 4o our teeth start chattering and we fuss and carry on like the Ice Age just returned. But let the thermometer soar to 40, after temps in the teens, and we will dance around in our short sleeves like loons.
There are times when I have gone riding, under no duress or obligation, in the pouring rain, blistering heat, driving snow, pitch dark, wind, fog, and all manner of Mother Nature's manifestations. I'm glad I did. That doesn't mean I'm going to necessarily do it again, but I am glad for the experiences. Now I'm more cautious and considerate of my horse's comfort and well-being to not going riding in certain types of weather, or at least that makes a good excuse for being sissy.
If you are the type of rider that competes, there are going to be competitions held in less than ideal weather, so training in less than ideal weather only makes sense. The show must go on, and all that. If there is a danger to me or my horse, then I certainly will not risk my horse's or my own well-being to go riding, competition or not. Lightning is one of those circumstances. Dangerous footing would be another. Being older and wiser, I do feel as though extreme heat and cold classify. Some times, weather may not be conducive to a full out training session, but a modified one would be suitable. A walking ride in high temperatures or a short one in frigid temps. is certainly sensible.
No matter how much whining I may do about weather and often having to ride in disagreeable conditions, I am always glad, at the end of a ride, that I did it. The reward outweighs any discomfort, and the discomfort is usually forgotten as my horse and I start working together. However, I'm still going to be on the couch watching a movie when the temperature dips into the single digits, despite thermo-synthetic-polar-fleece anythings.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Celebrate Good Times
In case you haven't noticed, it's been a while since I've written anything new. Well, it's been a while since I've written anything new here. This forum has been neglected while I've been carrying on an affair with the local newspaper. The editor of the "Outdoors" section has been graciously printing articles that I send him about horses and horse stuff and horse activities. Which is wonderful, of course, but that means that I now have to come up with more interesting topics and find interesting ways of writing about them. Sometimes it's a stretch to meet the demands of both this blog and the newspaper. It's always a stretch to come up with a topic that is going to be entertaining for both horse people and normal people for the newspaper, so getting that done usually takes up all of my writing time. Not to mention dancing showcases, Christmas gifting, Christmas parties, Mom stuff, the University job and the farm.... writing is kind of on the bottom of the list sometimes. Now, that holiday stuff is mostly out of the way and the dancing showcase is done, I have some time to devote to writing again. Except that I have a vacation coming up.
It's been about 10 years since I've taken vacation time longer than a weekend. My Mom, my son and I are all going to Disneyworld thanks to sponsorship from both my parents. When I went to DW as a kid, I was more thrilled with seeing the trolley horses than Mickey Mouse. I bought Breyer horses instead of mouse ears. One of the most memorable rides I went on was a trail ride at the DW ranch. I rode a buckskin mare named Little Gal and my Mom rode a chestnut gelding named Rooster. Clearly, I had some kind of a disease. Cerebral Equuscontagium - horses on the brain.
The DW ride that I frequented the most was the Carousel. Each time, I rode a different horse and gave it a name. Each of those horses became instantly real and they breathed and snorted and galloped and snorted and tossed their manes and snorted. I was a master at imitating a horse snort so all of my imaginary horses did a lot of snorting.
One symptom of CE is that the afflicted child has hallucinations that her bicycle, tire swing, and herself are horses. My first bicycle was a blue bike that was really a black pony named Thunderbeast. As I grew taller, I graduated to a bigger red bike that was a chestnut Thoroughbred named Fire Stalker. When I didn't have my bike around, I had imaginary horses. The first was a shaggy chestnut pony named Max. He came with me to Summer camp and saved me from homesickness. I added a Clydesdale mare named Celebration to my daydreamed herd. She was shy and flighty unlike good old reliable Max. Someone with some psychology training could parallel the creation of Celebration with my transition from the security of my childhood (Max) to adolescence (Celebration), with which I wasn't as comfortable. However, there is no explanation for naming a pony/bike Thunderbeast.
There is no cure for CE, but for some, the symptoms regress and are controlled with normal activities. For others, we continue to ride our way through life, living out our childhood imagination with real ponies, real horses and real snorts.
It's been about 10 years since I've taken vacation time longer than a weekend. My Mom, my son and I are all going to Disneyworld thanks to sponsorship from both my parents. When I went to DW as a kid, I was more thrilled with seeing the trolley horses than Mickey Mouse. I bought Breyer horses instead of mouse ears. One of the most memorable rides I went on was a trail ride at the DW ranch. I rode a buckskin mare named Little Gal and my Mom rode a chestnut gelding named Rooster. Clearly, I had some kind of a disease. Cerebral Equuscontagium - horses on the brain.
The DW ride that I frequented the most was the Carousel. Each time, I rode a different horse and gave it a name. Each of those horses became instantly real and they breathed and snorted and galloped and snorted and tossed their manes and snorted. I was a master at imitating a horse snort so all of my imaginary horses did a lot of snorting.
One symptom of CE is that the afflicted child has hallucinations that her bicycle, tire swing, and herself are horses. My first bicycle was a blue bike that was really a black pony named Thunderbeast. As I grew taller, I graduated to a bigger red bike that was a chestnut Thoroughbred named Fire Stalker. When I didn't have my bike around, I had imaginary horses. The first was a shaggy chestnut pony named Max. He came with me to Summer camp and saved me from homesickness. I added a Clydesdale mare named Celebration to my daydreamed herd. She was shy and flighty unlike good old reliable Max. Someone with some psychology training could parallel the creation of Celebration with my transition from the security of my childhood (Max) to adolescence (Celebration), with which I wasn't as comfortable. However, there is no explanation for naming a pony/bike Thunderbeast.
There is no cure for CE, but for some, the symptoms regress and are controlled with normal activities. For others, we continue to ride our way through life, living out our childhood imagination with real ponies, real horses and real snorts.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
The Rest Of The Story
As promised, from long ago, here is the rest of Gretchen’s story. The story is not all mushy and sweet, as some stories are. Gretchen was the bane of my existence for the entire time I had her. However, she was directly responsible for one of the major break-throughs I had as a horse trainer. Gretchen taught me that some horses just are not going to change. To ask those horses to change, or to make it a mission to change those horses is futile. From Gretchen I learned that you can not train away a horse’s personality. Sometimes, the trainer is the one that has to adapt.
Once I gave in to Gretchen and let her live outside, stopped taking her places in the horse trailer and got used to having to periodically change her feed because she didn’t like it anymore, she became a lot easier to live with. She was still horrible. But she had her moments. She was very sweet when getting her ears rubbed or her face brushed. She’d bite and kick when you groomed any other part of her body though. She loved to go riding, but she hated being caught, getting groomed, having her saddle put on (she did like her bridle) and having the rider get on, but once the rider was up, she was quite happy and willing. If one could survive the process of getting ready, she was nice to ride.
Gretchen was a perfect longe lesson horse. She was consistent and obedient on the longe line so that I could use her for students when they needed position work. She became a good horse to learn cantering on because she would make a smooth transition. As she got older, her canter got weirder with a sort of corkscrew action going on, but she was good about cantering and staying in the canter and staying on the rail. She loved to do lateral work and was great for teaching leg-yield to beginners. She had a fantastic extended trot and loved to do it so she was good for teaching students what a real extended trot felt like.
Gretchen was actually very good at horse shows, it was just the trailering that was a nightmare. She did some very nice Dressage tests although if you were not paying attention, she’d turn around and leave when you made your centerline halt.
Her next to last trailer ride was on the way to a horse show with her best buddy, Pooh Bear. I thought that this would be the one trailer ride that she might enjoy because she had Pooh along with her. She was fairly good until we got within 15 minutes of the showground. Then, she decided she was going to kill Pooh Bear. When the trailer started lurching around with screaming and banging issuing forth, I pulled over immediately and promptly removed her from it. In her efforts to make mincemeat of Pooh, she had lacerated an artery in her leg and was spraying blood like a fountain from just above her shipping wraps. I called for someone to come and get Pooh so he could get to the show (there were 3 students there waiting for the horses to arrive) and called my husband (at the time) to come and get Gretchen and take her to the vet. There was nothing I could do with her leg as each time I even tried to look at it, she went into a screaming rage and tried to kick my head off. My assistant and I could only stand and watch her, tied to the outside of the trailer, spraying blood on all the shrubbery near-by and occasionally making threats to kill everybody. I had a tranquilizer that the vet recommended I give her, but it only seemed to agitate her more. After Pooh left and husband arrived, we put Gretchen back in the trailer and he quickly drove away with her. His instructions were to not stop for anything and I’m sure it was a harrowing hour long drive. As I watched the trailer pull away,swaying with each mighty kick she gave and listening to her bellowing inside, I was relieved that I wasn’t the one making it.
She got to the vet and was stitched up in numerous places and x-rayed for other damage. Even with quilted shipping wraps and bell boots, she had many lacerations and had even fractured a splint bone. I can’t even imagine what damage she would have done without the wraps on. After she recovered from her anaesthesia, I was then faced with the problem of getting her home again. Thankfully, the vet loaned me the use of his 4 horse stock trailer. Gretchen was crosstied in the middle of it and tranquilized enough to make her drowsy, but not so much that she couldn’t keep her feet and I took her home. That was the most peaceful trailer ride I ever had with the old Sasquatch. It was also the last.
Some may say that there could have been a way to trailer her without so much distress; a different type of trailer, or having her stand diagonally, or rear-facing, maybe. The truth is, it just wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t worth the headache nor the financial distress of trailer repairs and vet bills, to keep experimenting. So Gretchen was grounded. Everybody was happier.
Gretchen was used in horse camp and a lot of lessons. She was a good horse for teaching kids and adults to be careful. If you were careless, she’d bite or kick. You had to be on your guard all the time. If you paid attention, you were okay, but let your mind wander for a second or get too complacent and she’d give you a swift reminder. She was also a great one for teaching someone to stand up for herself. If you backed down from Gretchen’s threats, she only got worse; the way a school bully preys on the weak and defenseless. If you gave as much of a threat right back at her, she’d respect you and settle down. If you coddled her or flinched, her power increased ten-fold and she became the wicked step-mother of all the most hideous fairy-tales.
Off the subject for the moment, but why was the step-mother always the wicked one in those stories? There were no wicked aunties or cousins, no evil father-in-laws or great-uncles. The step-mother got a bum rap.
I could write volumes about Gretchen’s exploits here on the farm. There was the time she trapped a student behind a tree. There was the time she tried to kill Rocket in the horse trailer, a half mile from home, and got hung up on the divider in the process so that I had to push her off of it. There was the time she ran away with a little girl in the field (all the school horses ran away that day) and the poor student ended up falling off Gretchen and onto a rock wall. For each of those times, there were more moments of her giving students a good ride in a lesson. For all of her quirks and disasters, I was fond of the cantankerous old mare.
She finally passed away at the age of 29 and she died the way she lived: on her own terms and making my life difficult. She passed away one evening after eating her dinner normally and giving no indication that it was her last meal. It is true that she was not in great health. She had Cushing’s, she was losing weight, her appetite wasn’t good, her teeth and eyesight were in poor condition and she was relatively feeble. She was discovered in the morning, dead in her paddock, with no signs of trauma or distress. It must have been a heart attack or aneurysm that took her quickly. I had a busy day planned with many important appointments and places to be that day, but it all had to be canceled so that I could arrange to have her buried.
Even after all of the times I cursed her, and all the times she hurt herself, I still grieved her passing. I accepted her for who she was and kept her until the end.
Once I gave in to Gretchen and let her live outside, stopped taking her places in the horse trailer and got used to having to periodically change her feed because she didn’t like it anymore, she became a lot easier to live with. She was still horrible. But she had her moments. She was very sweet when getting her ears rubbed or her face brushed. She’d bite and kick when you groomed any other part of her body though. She loved to go riding, but she hated being caught, getting groomed, having her saddle put on (she did like her bridle) and having the rider get on, but once the rider was up, she was quite happy and willing. If one could survive the process of getting ready, she was nice to ride.
Gretchen was a perfect longe lesson horse. She was consistent and obedient on the longe line so that I could use her for students when they needed position work. She became a good horse to learn cantering on because she would make a smooth transition. As she got older, her canter got weirder with a sort of corkscrew action going on, but she was good about cantering and staying in the canter and staying on the rail. She loved to do lateral work and was great for teaching leg-yield to beginners. She had a fantastic extended trot and loved to do it so she was good for teaching students what a real extended trot felt like.
Gretchen was actually very good at horse shows, it was just the trailering that was a nightmare. She did some very nice Dressage tests although if you were not paying attention, she’d turn around and leave when you made your centerline halt.
Her next to last trailer ride was on the way to a horse show with her best buddy, Pooh Bear. I thought that this would be the one trailer ride that she might enjoy because she had Pooh along with her. She was fairly good until we got within 15 minutes of the showground. Then, she decided she was going to kill Pooh Bear. When the trailer started lurching around with screaming and banging issuing forth, I pulled over immediately and promptly removed her from it. In her efforts to make mincemeat of Pooh, she had lacerated an artery in her leg and was spraying blood like a fountain from just above her shipping wraps. I called for someone to come and get Pooh so he could get to the show (there were 3 students there waiting for the horses to arrive) and called my husband (at the time) to come and get Gretchen and take her to the vet. There was nothing I could do with her leg as each time I even tried to look at it, she went into a screaming rage and tried to kick my head off. My assistant and I could only stand and watch her, tied to the outside of the trailer, spraying blood on all the shrubbery near-by and occasionally making threats to kill everybody. I had a tranquilizer that the vet recommended I give her, but it only seemed to agitate her more. After Pooh left and husband arrived, we put Gretchen back in the trailer and he quickly drove away with her. His instructions were to not stop for anything and I’m sure it was a harrowing hour long drive. As I watched the trailer pull away,swaying with each mighty kick she gave and listening to her bellowing inside, I was relieved that I wasn’t the one making it.
She got to the vet and was stitched up in numerous places and x-rayed for other damage. Even with quilted shipping wraps and bell boots, she had many lacerations and had even fractured a splint bone. I can’t even imagine what damage she would have done without the wraps on. After she recovered from her anaesthesia, I was then faced with the problem of getting her home again. Thankfully, the vet loaned me the use of his 4 horse stock trailer. Gretchen was crosstied in the middle of it and tranquilized enough to make her drowsy, but not so much that she couldn’t keep her feet and I took her home. That was the most peaceful trailer ride I ever had with the old Sasquatch. It was also the last.
Some may say that there could have been a way to trailer her without so much distress; a different type of trailer, or having her stand diagonally, or rear-facing, maybe. The truth is, it just wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t worth the headache nor the financial distress of trailer repairs and vet bills, to keep experimenting. So Gretchen was grounded. Everybody was happier.
Gretchen was used in horse camp and a lot of lessons. She was a good horse for teaching kids and adults to be careful. If you were careless, she’d bite or kick. You had to be on your guard all the time. If you paid attention, you were okay, but let your mind wander for a second or get too complacent and she’d give you a swift reminder. She was also a great one for teaching someone to stand up for herself. If you backed down from Gretchen’s threats, she only got worse; the way a school bully preys on the weak and defenseless. If you gave as much of a threat right back at her, she’d respect you and settle down. If you coddled her or flinched, her power increased ten-fold and she became the wicked step-mother of all the most hideous fairy-tales.
Off the subject for the moment, but why was the step-mother always the wicked one in those stories? There were no wicked aunties or cousins, no evil father-in-laws or great-uncles. The step-mother got a bum rap.
I could write volumes about Gretchen’s exploits here on the farm. There was the time she trapped a student behind a tree. There was the time she tried to kill Rocket in the horse trailer, a half mile from home, and got hung up on the divider in the process so that I had to push her off of it. There was the time she ran away with a little girl in the field (all the school horses ran away that day) and the poor student ended up falling off Gretchen and onto a rock wall. For each of those times, there were more moments of her giving students a good ride in a lesson. For all of her quirks and disasters, I was fond of the cantankerous old mare.
She finally passed away at the age of 29 and she died the way she lived: on her own terms and making my life difficult. She passed away one evening after eating her dinner normally and giving no indication that it was her last meal. It is true that she was not in great health. She had Cushing’s, she was losing weight, her appetite wasn’t good, her teeth and eyesight were in poor condition and she was relatively feeble. She was discovered in the morning, dead in her paddock, with no signs of trauma or distress. It must have been a heart attack or aneurysm that took her quickly. I had a busy day planned with many important appointments and places to be that day, but it all had to be canceled so that I could arrange to have her buried.
Even after all of the times I cursed her, and all the times she hurt herself, I still grieved her passing. I accepted her for who she was and kept her until the end.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Doing More Than Riding
Here's another post that may get me in trouble. And when I say "may" I mean "will". It is not my intent to offend anyone, but someone, I'm sure, will take this the wrong way. Here goes nothing... Hold on just a minute, why do we say "here goes nothing"? What does that even mean? English is a weird language. Here goes the whole thing...
My particular favorite equestrian sport or discipline, is Dressage. There are people who will snort with defiance at the mere mention of the word. Others scoff at how "boring" it is. Some will lambaste Dressage aficionados for their participation. Dressage isn't for everyone, which is fine. Good riding and good horses are a pleasure to watch no matter their classification. The equine world is vast and varied and that is what makes it so interesting and entertaining. However, Dressage appeals to me personally, in a lot of ways.
I have never been the type of rider that was satisfied with just riding for riding's sake. Even as a young girl, riding my pony, Ivy, around town, I yearned to do something with her beyond just going for a ride. My Mom used to do her paper route with her horse. Oh how I wished I had a paper route! I wanted to ride my horse to the store, do a little shopping and ride home. I wanted to ride my horse to school. I wanted a job for my horse and I to do. It's not that I didn't enjoy riding, because I certainly did. Ivy was a wonderful little horse and we canvassed every inch of the neighborhood, exploring, trying out new trails, riding down the street, checking out the beaches, and seeing just how far we could get. She was game and I was looking for adventure. Yet, as time went by I found myself not just wanting to go for a ride, but wanting to work on something. I guess that's why I became a horse trainer and not just a horse rider.
When I started riding in local horse shows, that hunt for something more was satiated slightly. With competition came goals to meet. We did Western and English classes, jumping, games, equitation, trail, costume... everything that was offered. There was still something missing.
It wasn't until I truly started to understand Dressage that I became interested in pursuing it. Dressage is much more than just following a pattern. It's not even until relatively recently that I have come to appreciate Dressage thoroughly. For those that don't like it or have negative things to say, I have to point out that not all Dressage is done correctly. As in any equestrian event, there are people who take things too far, or in the wrong direction and it spoils the perception of the sport. And yes, I will admit that watching Dressage tests at a show, especially at the lower levels, can have about as much thrill as watching fingernails grow.
The appeal, for me, is in moving up the levels, advancing the horse's fitness and suppleness, and doing more than walk, trot and canter around the ring. I'd rather watch Dressage tests all day than watch a Western pleasure class. It's like watching the equine version of the Stepford Wives. I realize I am making a generalization here, because there are some really good Western pleasure horses. It just doesn't appeal to me. It would bore me to the point of having to bring a good book with me to read while I rode. The top Western pleasure horses all look like drones. They are beautiful animals but look like they've had lobotomies and are wearing concrete shoes. Please refrain from snacking me because I said that. It just isn't in my genetic material to be satisfied with riding a horse around and around and around going as slow as possible.
I think that with competition, the original design of the sport is lost. A Western pleasure horse is supposed to be a horse that you could comfortably ride all day long. With the modern Wp horses, it would take you all day to ride anywhere. Instead of showing horses that are comfortable to ride, they have made them slow enough that you could build a house of cards on top. Relaxation has been replaced with unresponsiveness. Instead of a horse that carries his head level with his body, the horses look like they can hardly carry their heads at all. It's not just in Wp that the competition has trumped the purpose.
Modern, competitive Dressage horses have undergone an evolution as well. The horses getting the high scores today are the ones showing exaggerated gaits. The gaits have become more important than the harmony and calmness that once was Dressage. Mistakes in tests, disobedience, even leaving out entire parts, is forgiven if the horse has spectacular gaits. It should not be so. But so it is.
Look at what has happened to the Tennessee Walking Horse. Here was a horse with a naturally smooth gait that could be ridden over uneven terrain and go great distances for many hours and the rider wouldn't feel like a tossed salad. Now, the gait has been outlandishly exaggerated through often cruel and inhumane methods to the point that it looks bizarre. Watching a "big lick" TWH makes me cringe. The horses don't look like horses anymore. They've become a kind of spastic kangaroo.
I do compete but not at the risk of my horse. If he needs a harsh bit, a tie-down, several inches of weighted pads on his feet, having his chin tucked down between his front legs, rowel spurs or anything else that causes him pain, then I'm not going to go to the show. I also like to go to shows where more is offered than just walk, trot, canter around the ring. That's why Road Hack is my favorite class, I get to WTC but also extend the trot and hand gallop. Once, I even got to ride in a Show Hack class which had collected walk, walk, walk on long reins, trot, collected trot, extended trot, canter, collected canter, extended canter, hand gallop, halt and back up. I was like a duck in water for that one.
My sport isn't perfect. There is a lot of undesirable stuff that happens through ignorance or pursuit of prizes. The root of Dressage, training a horse to be responsive, supple, well balanced and happy, is what I find intoxicating. I like my horses, eager, yet controllable; comfortable to ride, yet with expression to their gaits; calm but not dull, and well-balanced, yet maneuverable.
I'm sure someone reading this will be put out by something I have written ("Hey!! I'm a Western pleasure rider and I am definitely more interesting than fingernails!") but this is my blog, with my opinions and thoughts. I haven't meant to pick on anyone, but only to point out that some of our riding has gotten out of touch with its original intent, just like I got out of touch with the original point of this post.
My particular favorite equestrian sport or discipline, is Dressage. There are people who will snort with defiance at the mere mention of the word. Others scoff at how "boring" it is. Some will lambaste Dressage aficionados for their participation. Dressage isn't for everyone, which is fine. Good riding and good horses are a pleasure to watch no matter their classification. The equine world is vast and varied and that is what makes it so interesting and entertaining. However, Dressage appeals to me personally, in a lot of ways.
I have never been the type of rider that was satisfied with just riding for riding's sake. Even as a young girl, riding my pony, Ivy, around town, I yearned to do something with her beyond just going for a ride. My Mom used to do her paper route with her horse. Oh how I wished I had a paper route! I wanted to ride my horse to the store, do a little shopping and ride home. I wanted to ride my horse to school. I wanted a job for my horse and I to do. It's not that I didn't enjoy riding, because I certainly did. Ivy was a wonderful little horse and we canvassed every inch of the neighborhood, exploring, trying out new trails, riding down the street, checking out the beaches, and seeing just how far we could get. She was game and I was looking for adventure. Yet, as time went by I found myself not just wanting to go for a ride, but wanting to work on something. I guess that's why I became a horse trainer and not just a horse rider.
When I started riding in local horse shows, that hunt for something more was satiated slightly. With competition came goals to meet. We did Western and English classes, jumping, games, equitation, trail, costume... everything that was offered. There was still something missing.
It wasn't until I truly started to understand Dressage that I became interested in pursuing it. Dressage is much more than just following a pattern. It's not even until relatively recently that I have come to appreciate Dressage thoroughly. For those that don't like it or have negative things to say, I have to point out that not all Dressage is done correctly. As in any equestrian event, there are people who take things too far, or in the wrong direction and it spoils the perception of the sport. And yes, I will admit that watching Dressage tests at a show, especially at the lower levels, can have about as much thrill as watching fingernails grow.
The appeal, for me, is in moving up the levels, advancing the horse's fitness and suppleness, and doing more than walk, trot and canter around the ring. I'd rather watch Dressage tests all day than watch a Western pleasure class. It's like watching the equine version of the Stepford Wives. I realize I am making a generalization here, because there are some really good Western pleasure horses. It just doesn't appeal to me. It would bore me to the point of having to bring a good book with me to read while I rode. The top Western pleasure horses all look like drones. They are beautiful animals but look like they've had lobotomies and are wearing concrete shoes. Please refrain from snacking me because I said that. It just isn't in my genetic material to be satisfied with riding a horse around and around and around going as slow as possible.
I think that with competition, the original design of the sport is lost. A Western pleasure horse is supposed to be a horse that you could comfortably ride all day long. With the modern Wp horses, it would take you all day to ride anywhere. Instead of showing horses that are comfortable to ride, they have made them slow enough that you could build a house of cards on top. Relaxation has been replaced with unresponsiveness. Instead of a horse that carries his head level with his body, the horses look like they can hardly carry their heads at all. It's not just in Wp that the competition has trumped the purpose.
Modern, competitive Dressage horses have undergone an evolution as well. The horses getting the high scores today are the ones showing exaggerated gaits. The gaits have become more important than the harmony and calmness that once was Dressage. Mistakes in tests, disobedience, even leaving out entire parts, is forgiven if the horse has spectacular gaits. It should not be so. But so it is.
Look at what has happened to the Tennessee Walking Horse. Here was a horse with a naturally smooth gait that could be ridden over uneven terrain and go great distances for many hours and the rider wouldn't feel like a tossed salad. Now, the gait has been outlandishly exaggerated through often cruel and inhumane methods to the point that it looks bizarre. Watching a "big lick" TWH makes me cringe. The horses don't look like horses anymore. They've become a kind of spastic kangaroo.
I do compete but not at the risk of my horse. If he needs a harsh bit, a tie-down, several inches of weighted pads on his feet, having his chin tucked down between his front legs, rowel spurs or anything else that causes him pain, then I'm not going to go to the show. I also like to go to shows where more is offered than just walk, trot, canter around the ring. That's why Road Hack is my favorite class, I get to WTC but also extend the trot and hand gallop. Once, I even got to ride in a Show Hack class which had collected walk, walk, walk on long reins, trot, collected trot, extended trot, canter, collected canter, extended canter, hand gallop, halt and back up. I was like a duck in water for that one.
My sport isn't perfect. There is a lot of undesirable stuff that happens through ignorance or pursuit of prizes. The root of Dressage, training a horse to be responsive, supple, well balanced and happy, is what I find intoxicating. I like my horses, eager, yet controllable; comfortable to ride, yet with expression to their gaits; calm but not dull, and well-balanced, yet maneuverable.
I'm sure someone reading this will be put out by something I have written ("Hey!! I'm a Western pleasure rider and I am definitely more interesting than fingernails!") but this is my blog, with my opinions and thoughts. I haven't meant to pick on anyone, but only to point out that some of our riding has gotten out of touch with its original intent, just like I got out of touch with the original point of this post.
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